


From Upon the Golden Thrones [VOLUME III]

by myaekingheart



Series: The Temptation Chronicles [4]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Golden Age (Narnia), Multi, Narnia, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaekingheart/pseuds/myaekingheart
Summary: Upon Narnia’s rescue from Jadis’s tyranny, Aslan has crowned the Pevensies the rightful kings and queens of the land. Their infamous reign has ushered in an entirely new era– the Golden Age– however is not without it’s struggles. The young monarchs must learn to rule a country and engage in international affairs all while managing their personal lives from behind closed curtains– everything from insomnia to producing heirs. Ruling a country was never promised to be easy, but was it really meant to be this difficult?*Volume 3 consists of episodes/chapters 27-36.





	1. VOL 3, EP. 27: Rose and Bone

                The night sky loomed overhead, nothing but tiny, twinkling stars and a crescent moon providing their light. Puffs of breath clouded in front of Peter’s face, a true sign of his northward journey. He could tell his men were growing weary from their travels, having ridden nearly non-stop for two days. He wanted to get to the border as quickly as possible, unsure of when the giants would strike, but after so much time he felt as if they all deserved a bit of a break. He didn’t particularly want to set up camp in the middle of nowhere, especially this close to Ettinsmoor, in the fear that anyone could find them and loot their belongings or worse, kill them in their sleep.

                A small lantern flickered atop a rickety tower and Peter knew they had reached the northern sentry’s outpost. He approached to check in with them, in hopes of finding any news of movement from Ettinsmoor. Perhaps, if he was lucky, they would tell him there was no news, that the giants had lost interest and were no longer of any threat, or even better that the whole thing was just a hoax and there was never any real threat in the first place. The High King knew this was all bogus but deep down he desperately hoped for the rare possibility. Of course, much to his expectation, that was not the case. The sentries, two rather ignorant fauns, argued back and forth with one another about the exact details of the incident. Peter had to listen closely and block out the insignificant points to try and get a clear understanding of the situation. “Well, all that’s important is that the giants are planning their next move, right?” he interrupted once their bickering became unbearable. The two of them paused, glanced to one another, then nodded slowly before bickering again. Peter sighed and shook his head, glancing back to his army. They all looked absolutely exhausted, their faces pale and their eyes sunken with dark circles. Turning back to the sentries, he then cleared his throat and asked, “Do you two know of any place we could lodge for the night?”

                “Right here” the one commented, motioning to the small meadow in which they were standing. The cold wind bit at their noses and the snow crunched beneath their feet. Peter pursed his lips. If they were to have any chance of success against their enemies, they would need someplace a lot more accommodating to sleep. They needed as much rest as possible.

                “Do you by chance know of anywhere else?” he asked. He didn’t want to offend them by rejecting their offer, but he needed to keep his soldiers’ wellbeing in mind.

                The second sentry scoffed and pointed westward. “Well, there’s a tavern about a mile west of here but I don’t think it’s any better sleeping than outside!” he jested.

                “Yeah, the new management’s a real cunt!” the first laughed. Regardless of their insults, Peter decided in that moment that so long as it was a roof over their heads where they could thaw their frozen limbs, it was sufficient enough. He bid the sentries a quick goodnight, informed his men, and then off they ventured for the tavern.

                It did not take long before their eyes met the shabby building, a warm lantern flickering in the window. There was a sign overhead but Peter couldn’t make out the name due to the darkness and a large pile snow upon the roof.

                “Are you sure about this, your highness?” one soldier, Tristan, asked nervously. Peter knew little of Tristan except that he was from Archenland, was slightly younger than himself, and seemed to be very fearful of battles. _Good quality for a soldier_ , Peter thought to himself sarcastically.

                “We’ll be fine” Peter assured, urging Besnik nearer. “Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s a tavern, it begs to be vacated.” Tristan was unsure of this logic but was in no position to defy the king. They dismounted their horses at the front door and then stalked inside one behind the other.

                The moment they swung the door open, a shriek echoed across the room and a wooden chair went flying toward the soldiers’ heads. Peter gasped and ducked, inspecting his surroundings. It was a rather spacious tavern with a long bar along the left-hand wall and a roaring fireplace in the back. A myriad of tiny wooden tables and chairs filled the room, most all of them filled with drunken dwarves singing and shouting and throwing things at one another. Peter glanced back to his men, meeting their uncertain gazes, before straightening his back and clearing his throat. If he wanted their attention, he would have to assert all the kingly authority he could muster. “Excuse me, friends!” he called, stepping forward. Only one dwarf turned to gaze upon the magnificent, then slapped his friends’ shoulders as if to redirect their attention, as well.

                “Hey, who is this guy?” one drunkenly slurred.

                “Look at the tights on him!” another cackled.

                “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the likes of that” the first one replied.

                “It’s Robby Hood and his merry men off to start an orgy!” a third chimed in.

                Peter pursed his lips. “Alright, that’s enough!” he shouted, but the dwarves voices once more overpowered his own. “Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” Peter really didn’t want to be that guy, the one who used his status to get respect and attention, but he couldn’t fathom how these people could possibly speak to their own king with such vulgarity and disrespect. Sighing, he turned back to his men as if to say they ought to find elsewhere to lodge, but another unidentified flying object presently swung past his head. He leaned out of the way, this time hearing a girlish shriek in response to its trajectory. He turned toward the source of the sound to find none other than a sweet, shaking little she-minotaur trying to clean the glasses behind the bar. She stammered and softly tried to command the attention of her unruly guests but to no avail. They ignored her just the same as their own king. Her eyes darted around the room, muttering something panicked under her breath as she frantically wiped the spots from the glasses. Peter approached her cautiously, looking out for more projectiles, in hopes of getting some answers. “Excuse me, miss?” he called over the ruckus. She looked upon him with wide eyes, releasing a startled yelp. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I was wondering—” he started but the she-minotaur quickly interrupted. It was far too loud to hear her soft voice, but from the movement of her lips he thought she had said something along the lines of _You’re not supposed to be here_ , whatever that meant. “What?” he called, hoping perhaps he could get some clarification.

                As she opened her mouth to speak again, something strange and unsettling occurred. A door in the back, beside the fireplace, slammed open and all went silent. From the darkness stepped a mysterious figure with heavy footsteps and a dark gaze. “What the bloody hell is going on out here?” a deep voice asked. A shiver immediately ran down Peter’s spine at the sight of this man; he was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Much of his face was covered by a dirty red bandana, hiding everything but two soulless eyes and a pair of monstrous brows. From underneath his tricorn hat burst a mess of dark dreadlocks adorned with beads and wrappings. Much of his body was hidden by a large, dirty coat, pants tucked into leather boots, fingerless gloves barely covering bruised and bloody knuckles. What was clear to all, however, was that he was uncharacteristically, almost laughably, short. He gazed around the room angrily, teeth surely clenched, before his eyes landed upon the king and his soldiers. “Well, what do we have here?” he asked, skirting forward. He looked Peter up and down with wild eyes, circling him to inspect his royal clothes and noble stature.

                “I have come to request lodging in your establishment” he asked, straightening his back. He tried to appear as confident as possible but under the scrutiny of this stranger, he felt himself crumbling. How could one man possibly have the power to disarm him with nothing but his gaze?

                “What makes you think we serve the likes of you here?” the man asked.

                “Because I am your High King and I shall be treated as such” Peter said, voice wavering but commanding. The scraggly man erupted into a crazed fit of laughter, pounding his fist on the table. The Narnian soldiers looked upon one another nervously, as if they expected this psychopath to whip out his sword and slice them all.

                “You think we bow to the likes of you here?” he spat upon catching his breath. “I hate to break it you, _your highness_ , but you’re in the North now. We answer to no one.”

                “Well, you’re within the Narnian borders, and therefore you are, in fact, under my jurisdiction. I expect to be treated with respect” the king replied.

                “As do I” the man sneered. “And in these parts, I’ve got just as much power as you do, if not more so I suggest you start sucking up because first impressions are very important and as it currently stands, yours isn’t doing too hot.”

                Peter blinked, taken aback. He wasn’t accustomed to others asking him to bow down to their presence. He was the High King, after all. As far as he knew, the only one higher in command was Aslan himself. “What do you ask of me, then?” he asked. He was smart enough to know that with people such as this, it was a good idea to step lightly and ask what they want of you, even if they are of lower rank than yourself.

                “The usual greeting ought to suffice. So, in layman’s terms, state your name and business” the man explained. “That’s the polite way to do things, at least. Or we could act like civilized men and just slit each other’s throats now. Your pick.”

                The more he saw of this man, the more Peter grew uncomfortable in his presence. Clearing his throat, he replied, “I am High King Peter, the Magnificent. I’ve come here with my army to assess rumors of the Ettinsmoor giants planning an attack on the castle Cair Paravel.”

                The man cocked a brow in interest. “You don’t say? What? Do the higher-ups not trust us ragamuffins to take care of things ourselves? Those damned sentries never did care for us much, the bloody idiots.”

                “Truthfully, sir, we didn’t even know a thing of you all” Tristan stepped in. Peter cringed at his interruption. If the young man was too scared of warfare, then what did he think would happen in conversation with a guy like this? One of the other soldiers whacked him on the head in a silent command to shut up.

                “No surprise” the scraggly man replied. “Nobles never do care for the outcasts much, do they?”

                “If you don’t mind my asking, shouldn’t you introduce yourself as well?” Peter asked. The scraggly man chuckled.

                “Very perceptive, aren’t you?” he began. “The name’s Bone. Captain Elias Bone, to be exact, and what you’re standing in here is the Rose and Bone, my tavern. Share the place with the little lady over there, Rosalie.”

                Tristan gaped with realization. “Is she your…?” he started, but Captain Bone shook his head.

                “Not exactly. Call us partners in crime, though I commit all the crimes around here. She just hangs back and looks pretty” Captain Bone explained. Peter glanced to the she-minotaur, Rosalie, behind the bar, who kept her eyes averted the entire time. A soft blush spread across her cheeks.

                “She seems like fine company” Peter replied. _Much finer than your customers_ , he thought to himself. “And what of the others?” he asked.

                “These idiots?” Captain Bone replied, motioning to the dwarves behind him. They had all lost interest in the conversation and had returned to their nightly drinking and carrying on. “Believe it or not, they’re soldiers themselves. Took them up after the war. They had no place to go with the White Witch gone, so I took it upon myself to reform them and lead my own army. You’re looking at the first line of defense for the wild lands of the north.”

                Peter scanned the room to look upon all of the intoxicated dwarves. No wonder the sentries had expressed concern. He was certain they were no match for the likes of giants, both in stature and in sobriety. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why he had never heard anything of them earlier. It had been two years since the White Witch was overthrown—surely in that time, word of other armies would’ve spread. Not that he expected Captain Bone to be anything like Jadis. Despite the dark abyss of his eyes, he sensed something humane in them. Regardless of his talk of crime, Peter could tell this man had no truly ill intentions.

                “Well, then I assume we shall fight alongside one another in the coming days” Peter finally replied. “It will be a privilege to be your comrade in battle.”

                “Comrade?” Bone asked, cocking a thick brow. A smirk touched his lips beneath the mask. “No, from this point onward, you’re taking orders from me.”

                “Excuse me?” the High King asked, blinking incredulously.

                “My land, my rules. So long as you fight on my turf, you’re under my command. Is that a problem, _your highness_?” the captain replied.

                “But I’m the High King. Everything up to the northern border is under my jurisdiction. I outrank you, and therefore you take orders from me” Peter argued.

                Captain Bone turned and slammed his fist on the bar, startling the she-minotaur frantically drying glasses. “I suggest you try not to make things unnecessarily difficult” he growled. “After all, your presence here is really just a formality. We’ve defended these parts just fine by ourselves up until now, there’s no reason we need the help of some prissy king this time around.”

                _Prissy?!_ Who did this man think he was? Peter had fought alongside Aslan himself, he had defeated the White Witch and her army. He had trained under the tutelage of the best in all of Narnia. This stranger had no place to speak, calling him such derogatory terms. Peter could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, the anger overwhelming him. He didn’t need this. He had more important things to worry about. Just as he opened his mouth to counterattack, however, Captain Bone spoke over him.

                “Rosalie!” he shouted. The she-minotaur behind the counter froze, so startled she nearly dropped one of the glasses she was washing. “Prepare some rooms for the king and his men” Bone commanded. Peter blinked incredulously. After all that, he had fully resolved to finding someplace else to stay, even if there were no other taverns in the area. He hadn’t thought Captain Bone would care enough to provide them lodging anyhow. The affirmation was shocking and quite frankly, Peter began to wonder if this man had ulterior motives. He did not trust Captain Bone one bit.

                “Yes, sir” Rosalie nodded, scurrying out from behind the bar. As she did so, Captain Bone turned to the dwarves behind throwing things across the room and shouting at one another. A look of darkness and displeasure painted his face.

                “And as for you lot!” he shouted, silencing them all. “You lazy ass drunks, if I’m forced to come out here one more time, I’m throwing all of you into the Shribble! Understood?” The dwarves gulped in unison and watched as Captain Bone retreated back to his chamber, never breaking eye contact. He slammed the door shut hard enough to shake the chandelier overhead.

                The accommodations at the Rose and Bone were average, at best. Rosalie led the soldiers upstairs to a hallway with six doors, three on either side, and apologized for not having more space or even adequate beds. Peter placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder and thanked her, telling her this would do just fine. He was quite fond of Rosalie, he had decided. There was a tender innocence about her that he admired. She didn’t belong here, he thought. He wondered how on earth she ever came to get mixed up with such rugged folk, these wild dwarves and cold captain.

                Captain Elias Bone was another matter entirely. He was an enigma, something that Peter couldn’t quite figure out. He was, in many ways, an unlikely force. His stature was laughable, and Peter questioned his strength. But then again, he had to have earned the title of captain somehow. As he tried to sleep that night, the High King tossed and turned wondering about this strange character’s past. He wanted to know who Captain Bone was, how he came to manage this establishment and earn his title. There were so many questions swirling in his head, but the worst part was knowing that Peter would most likely never get a straightforward answer. Captain Bone didn’t seem like the type. This harsh reality did not stop Peter from wondering, however. As the moon shone brightly through the frosted windows and the floor boards creaked with his every movement, Peter sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. He thought of home, of Cair Paravel and his brother and sisters. He thought of the giants who threatened to steal all of that away from him. He felt as if he had already lost so much. His siblings were the most important things in the world to him, and this life they had built together was something out of a fairytale. He didn’t dare risk losing it. He wondered if Captain Bone even cared about any of that. He seemed so stubborn and dejected, as if he cared not for authority other than this own. Peter assumed this rugged stranger only saw the magnificent for his crown and nothing else. He probably scarcely cared that there was a person behind his title, that he had a home and a family that he wanted to protect. He wondered of Captain Bone’s own family, if he had any at all and where they were if he did. He wondered what all of this meant. What significance would this coldhearted man have on Peter’s journey? What would come of his time here? Would Captain Bone fight alongside him nobly, or be the key to his ultimate undoing? Peter suddenly wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He closed his eyes, but sleep never came.


	2. VOL 3, EP. 28: Captain's Orders

                Peter sucked in a deep breath as he looked to his men. Papers sprawled across the floor, maps and charts and scribbled notes. They all had been up since dawn preparing for the battle ahead and discussing tactics until finally, they had made their decision.

                As they stood in the bitter cold preparing their steeds, Peter glanced over to find Tristan looking rather distraught. His chest rose and fell quickly, leading the king to believe his hands shook not with cold but with anxiety. Peter felt as if it was his duty to maintain his soldiers’ morale, so an uneasy face certainly called for attention. “You alright, Tristan?” he asked, sauntering over and patting his horse on the flank. Tristan snapped from his daze and nodded vigorously, though Peter could tell he was swallowing back fear. “You have nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be alright!” the High King assured, though Tristan still seemed unconvinced.

                “How can you be so sure?” he asked. “We’re outnumbered in size and strength. They could take us down with minimal effort.”

                “They’re bigger and stronger than us, that’s true” Peter began, “But we have one thing they don’t and that’s brains. We’ve got a foolproof strategy. There’s no way we can lose.” As he spoke, Tristan’s face grew paler and his eyes widened with shock. For a moment, Peter thought perhaps his words were having some strange effect on the boy but before he could ask, he was quickly interrupted by a grave voice from behind.

                “Where the hell do you all think you’re going?” he asked, tone cold and coarse. Peter turned to find none other than Captain Bone standing in the doorway of the tavern. “And what’s this ‘foolproof strategy’ you speak of, eh?”

                Peter furrowed his brows, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “And what importance is it for you to know?”

                “Well” Bone said, “These are my lands and I would prefer to be privy to all that goes on here.”

                “You mean _my_ lands. You seem to constantly forget that this is still Narnian territory” Peter corrected.

                “And you seem to constantly forget I have more power here than you, your highness” Bone replied. His dark eyes were sharp and quick. Peter’s spine chilled.

                “I’m afraid we can’t waste any time explaining ourselves” he then spoke up. Anything to get out of this conversation.

                Bone crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Let me guess: you’re going to waltz into Harfang and deal with the giants yourselves, yeah?” The High King blinked a few times. He hadn’t expected Captain Bone to already know their plan. That didn’t matter, though. That was not going to stop him from carrying this out. Bone shook his head with a dark chuckle. “That’s not a foolproof plan, smartass. It’s a suicide mission.”

                “As if you can think of something better” Peter challenged.

                Who did this kid think he was? Peter’s lack of respect for the rugged man roused him greatly. “Your best plan of attack would be to wait it out. Let them come to us before making our move. We’d have the advantage attacking from our home grounds.”

                Peter scoffed. “And risk putting the residents of the northern border in danger?” he countered. “What you’re suggesting will kill far too many of our own men. I refuse to let any Narnians face unnecessary deaths. We need to attack the giants at the source.”

                “Have you ever been to Harfang, boy?” Bone then asked. “Have you ever seen the giants’ castle? You’ve got no idea what you’re up against. You go in there, you’re nothing but a spider to a bear. They’ll crush you in half a second, flat.” A sinking feeling came over the soldiers in those moments, Tristan especially. He knew he never should have agreed to this, even if he had no other choice. Peter tried his hardest to keep composure, but he could tell the captain’s words were planting unease in his men.  

                “Y-your highness, maybe…well, maybe Captain Bone has a point…?” Tristan finally spoke up. The High King glared back at him as if the young man had betrayed his authority.

                Bone smirked beneath his mask. “Seems like your army isn’t so confident in their leader anymore, your majesty” he remarked. The way that term fell from his lips— _your majesty_ —made Peter squirm. Every reference to his title was a mockery to the Narnian royals as a whole. He eyed each of the soldiers for a moment longer before shaking his head and spreading his arms. “But who am I to say such a thing? After all, you are the High King. My word means nothing. It’s not my place nor my duty to stop you. If your desire is to send your men to early graves, then be my guest.” And with that, he turned and stepped foot back into the tavern.

                Peter stared at the door for a moment, eyes transfixed on the spot where Bone had stood, and pursed his lips. What the hell did he know, anyway? It wasn’t like Peter, the High King of Narnia, was going to listen to what some random stranger had to say. Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe. He didn’t want to be bothered by the captain’s words, but deep down he couldn’t get them out of his head. Had he really made such a terrible mistake? Was he really so stupid to not see the flaws in his plan? He didn’t want to abandon his decision because of what someone he barely knew had to say, but now he felt guilty going forward. He wanted to do everything he could to keep his men safe. He was responsible for them. Their fate was in his hands. He turned slowly to face them, scared of the expressions that would sit on their faces. He didn’t want to be met with fear and uncertainty. He didn’t want them to abandon his leadership. He cursed Bone under his breath for causing such uproar like this. Was it really so hard to just obey your leaders? What if Peter’s plan worked perfectly, and nothing bad happened—then what? Would Bone really think so highly of himself then? As his eyes landed on his men, Peter’s fears were realized. They looked just as nervous and hesitant as he expected them to. Tristan averted his eyes, the others grumbled among themselves. This was a disaster. Peter sucked in a deep breath. “Well, what do we do now?”

                He was open to new ideas. He welcomed any and all alternative plans his men may have thought up. The issue, however, was that none of them were skilled strategists. They didn’t have the experience or education that Peter had gained. He assumed that was why he was appointed the High King, or at least one of a handful of reasons. Civilized discussion soon turned to argument due in part by growing frustration. As the volume rose and the panic mounted, Peter realized more and more that there was perhaps only one option left. He didn’t want to resort to this, especially with the growing tension from the past twenty-four hours, but he was growing desperate. They couldn’t reach a mutual decision. They needed an outside opinion and there was only one person to ask for help.

                Rosalie was reorganizing the bottles of alcohol when Peter stepped foot inside. He hadn’t realized just how cold it was until he entered the warm womb of the tavern, the fire crackling in the back. The bar seemed different in the daylight—more like a cozy living room than a rousing rave. Hints of pine and cinnamon wafted through the air, and Peter was quickly reminded of Christmastime.

                He cleared his throat softly to get the she-minotaur’s attention, treading softly so as not to startle her as she was so prone to. She blinked and turned slowly, her cheeks blushing as she looked upon him. “Uh, hello, yes, what can I help you with?” she asked. There was a nervous energy surrounding her, and Peter wondered if she had social anxiety or if it was just an effect of being in his presence. He thought back to the night before, the way he swore she said he wasn’t supposed to be there. He still didn’t know what that meant, if that was even what she had really said. He would ask, but now was not the time. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

                “I’d like to request a conference with Captain Bone to discuss tactical matters” Peter requested. “It seems as though your manager has caused quite a stir among my army, and now none of us can come to an agreement on how to handle things.”

                “Oh…” Rosalie said softly. She cast her eyes downward, twiddling her thumbs nervously. “W-well, I’m not so sure…I mean, I wish—I don’t know…it’s, um…I’m unsure if I can make good on your request, sir…” she stammered and squeaked.

                “Why not?” Peter asked. He truly didn’t want to stress her out, but he could see her timidity becoming rather frustrating if she continued. He just wanted a simple, straightforward answer and if the answer was no, he wanted an explanation as to why.

                “I-I’m afraid Captain Bone isn’t one to really advise others” she states.

                “If he’s not the advisory type, then what the hell would you call his ruse from earlier?” Peter pressed.

                Rosalie hummed nervously, her left hoof beginning to shake against the floor. “C-Captain Bone is m-more of a commander than a counselor, you see…he’d rather give orders than suggestions. I don’t think you’d like that very much, sir.”

                “I can stand my ground” Peter replied.

                “He’ll get angry” Rosalie said. “He’s very unpleasant when he’s angry. It scares me ever so much, so…so please...please don’t instigate him.”

                “I don’t understand why I can’t just speak with him” Peter replied. He was growing rather impatient now. “He’s caused a pretty bothersome problem here and I need to speak with him and sort this out.”

                Rosalie sighed and attempted to straighten her back with confidence she didn’t really have. “A-alright. I’ll go back and ask him, b-but I wouldn’t get your hopes up!” she announced. Peter nodded and, per the she-minotaur’s request, took a seat at one of the tiny tables. He watched her approach that door in the back of the room, knocking in a specific pattern and then slipping inside. From what he could see, it was pitch black inside and there was hardly any sound. He picked up notes of incense or perhaps it was tobacco floating from inside. Even after Rosalie had entered the room, Peter couldn’t keep his eyes off that mysterious door. He wondered what was inside, what secrets it held. It piqued his curiosity. Perhaps it held some sort of answer as to who this Captain Bone was and how he came to find himself here.

                His mind wandered as he waited, the minutes passing slowly and torturously until finally she emerged with a sullen look crossing her face. She could barely look at him, disappointed in herself for having failed him. She simply shook her head as she shuffled her way back behind the bar. Peter couldn’t believe it. He jumped up and raced toward her, begging for clarification. “I-I’m sorry but Captain Bone said he’s not in the mood for counsel right now” she cried quietly.

                “I don’t understand. What’s keeping him?” Peter asked. “Is it really so hard to come out here and talk?”

                “C-Captain Bone is a very fickle person, he does as he pleases—” she began but was interrupted by a harsh slam of a fist against the bar.

                “Bullshit!” Peter shouted. Rosalie recoiled against the shelf of alcohol, restraining tears. She hated conflict, and deep down she wished that Peter and his men had never come to the tavern in the first place. Then things would be perfectly calm. The magnificent straightened his back then and sucked in a deep breath, his eyes falling upon that mysterious door. “Well, if he won’t come to me, then I’ll just go to him” he growled. He started for the door, but Rosalie shrieked and leapt in front of his path.

                “Please, don’t!” she cried, her entire body trembling. There was a strange desperation in her eyes. Peter glanced back to the door, always shut. He wondered why he wasn’t allowed inside, and what they were hiding.

                “Why not?” he asked, fire in his eyes. Rosalie couldn’t bear to look at him.

                “C-Captain Bone is very strict about keeping his personal life incredibly private. No one is allowed in or out of that room e-except for Captain Bone and myself” she explained quietly. “I-I’m sorry, sir…I’m so…so sorry.”

                Peter sighed and dropped into the nearest seat, rubbing his temples. His head was beginning to pound with all the unnecessary stress that had slammed him today. Rosalie froze for a moment when she noticed he had let his guard down, relaxing a bit as he became less of a threat. She watched him for a few moments, her heart beating out of her chest. She hated this, truly she did. If only there was something she could do. She was not a disobedient thane, she never gave her lord any trouble. Especially now, she knew not to rock the boat, but at the same time…

                 “O-Okay…” she squeaked. Peter glanced up at her curiously. She had tilted her chin upward, clenched her fists at her sides, her chest rising and falling quickly. “I-If you really want to speak to the captain that badly, I-I can go back and t-try to negotiate. I can see what I can do.”

                A relief and unexpected joy began to swell inside of Peter. He leapt up from his seat, startling the she-minotaur, and took her hands in his. “Thank you, Rosalie. I really appreciate this.” In those moments, he had found a great respect for her. She was very shy and at times that bothered him, but her resolve in those moments was admirable. She was willing to defy orders and argue with her lord to get her way, or in this case Peter’s way. She was working for his own interest despite the cruelty of her master. He watched her scurry off back into the room, preparing herself for a barrage of anger just before stepping inside, and tried to keep himself composed. After all, regardless of Rosalie’s sudden vigor, there was no guarantee Captain Bone would bend to her will. He hated to think of the she-minotaur cowering in defeat, but he was smart enough to know that Bone was not an accommodating man. He likely would not agree to her request and, considering the nature of this situation, may even grow violent toward her for bringing it up again after he had already said no. If that was the case, Peter had resolved to defending Rosalie at all costs. Maybe he would even offer to bring her back to Cair Paravel after all of this was said and done. She could be happy there. He and his siblings would provide for her and treat her with the respect that she deserved. He had no doubt that she would get along splendidly with the likes of Hattie and Nefyn and Professor Arcadian and Hermes. She deserved far better than the ill treatment she received here, that much he was sure of.

                The afternoon crawled into evening and Peter did not see Rosalie again for the rest of the night. His heart raced as he pondered what may have happened to her, if she had somehow been swallowed up inside or even tossed into the River Shribble. He didn’t want to believe that she and Captain Bone had been arguing that entire time, but he wouldn’t put it past the man. Many times he contemplated barging in there on his own but then thought better of himself. Still, this did not stop him from wondering further about what was behind that door.

                After a while, he stepped back out into the freezing cold air, his troops still circling the lawn arguing about battle tactics. When Peter entered the scene, they all paused with expectant gazes but all he could do was shake his head and tell them he had yet to speak with Bone. By nightfall, they had all grown tired and bitter and cold. They trudged inside, defeated, knowing that no matter what they may come up with now, they would have to wait until morning if they wanted to act. Many of them retreated upstairs to their chambers for a rest, while others joined the rioting dwarves for a pint of beer. Peter, however, was not very much in the mood for socializing. He stepped outside and sat on the tavern porch, staring up at the stars as he brandished his sword.

                He wondered about his family, if they were alright. If they missed him or were worried about him. He thought of Ginevra across the sea, and what would become of her if he never made it back alive. He hated to think he would ever put her in the same position that Eilonwy put him into. It was the first time he had thought of her name in a long while, and his chest ached at the sound of it. It sounded so foreign to him now, like a distant star exploding lightyears away from him. It was this same time of year when she had left him. It felt like ages ago. He hoped wherever she was, she was happy and safe but more than anything, he hoped that there was still the slightest chance of her coming back to him someday.

                The front door swung open violently, stirring Peter from his thoughts. He turned to find a dark, cloaked figure staring down at him with arms crossed. He knew in an instant that it was Captain Bone finally emerged from his hideout. His eyes pierced through Peter’s sanity as he kicked his boot against the porch before he finally spoke, voice gruff and intimidating. “So, I heard you wanted to talk?”


	3. VOL 3, EP 29: To the Bone

                Peter sucked in a deep breath as he sat outside brandishing his sword under the stars. He thought of his family and his home, of everything he held dear, when the door swung open and a figure cloaked in darkness approached. “So, I heard you wanted to talk?”

                A part of him felt incredibly pissed off that it had taken Bone this long to come and speak with him but now that he was here, the High King was not about to complain. He patted the space next to him, inviting Bone to sit, and surprisingly enough he accepted the offer. Then, leaning back, Captain Bone knocked loudly on the window and summoned Rosalie, requesting a pint of ale and two mugs. She nodded and scurried off to fulfill the request.

                “Has she always been this obedient?” Peter asked, eyes locked on his sword. He didn’t expect to sound as harsh as he did but was partially grateful for it. He supposed all the pent up frustration of the day was acting on it’s own accord.

                Bone scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Rosalie is of no concern to you” he remarked. “And I’m sure that’s not what you were whingeing on about all day, either.” Peter rolled his eyes, a part of him beginning to regret ever wanting to confide in this man. He seemingly had no respect for anyone, not even his own king. Peter continued brandishing his sword without a word. “I don’t have all night, you know” Bone said. “All this time and now you won’t even tell me what the hell you wanted. Typical.”

                “Fine” Peter sighed in exasperation. “I wanted battle advice seeing as how you undermined all of my plans and therefore wasted my day. You made both myself and my men uncertain of what we had previously decided on and now we can’t even decide on an alternative tactic.”

                The captain listened with intrigue before chuckling darkly. “And how is that my fault? I simply directed your attention to the flaws in your plan for the sake of your men’s lives. It really bothers you being wrong, doesn’t it?”

                “That’s not what this is about!” Peter shouted. “You undermined my authority and made my soldiers question their leader.”

                Captain Bone then shrugged and replied, “That’s just politics.” He was really starting to get underneath Peter’s skin, the magnificent groaning and burying his face in his hands. Behind Bone’s mask, he was grinning. “You said you wanted advice on battle tactics, so I have a proposition for you: why not try backing down and returning to that glittery castle on the shore and letting the real men handle a fight of this magnitude.”

                It was bad enough when Bone insulted his title, but now his masculinity? Peter was veering closer and closer to the edge of his sanity. “What do you mean ‘real men’? Do you dare to deface my skill? I was knighted by Aslan himself! I fought alongside him in the Battle of Beruna against the White Witch and her armies. I am the High King, dammit! And this is my land, regardless of what you think. I have every right to fight for it’s safety just as you do, if not more.”

                “You don’t have a single clue what you’re up against, boy” Bone countered. “You would be better off sticking to what you know, sitting on a fancy throne and kissing babies. Stop trying to be all high and mighty just because you’re a king. You can’t possibly fight a battle that’s too big for you. I don’t care who knighted you, or what your credentials say. Your skill is no longer important. My seniority ought to be enough to make you think twice of your commands, your majesty. You don’t always know best, you know.”

                Bone expected the young king to fire back at him, but instead Peter simply paused a moment, shook his head, and chuckled under his breath. There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he muttered, “I’ve missed this.”

                The captain froze, unsure if he heard the king correctly. Perhaps it was all just a trick of the ears and he was hallucinating. “What did you say?”

                It was then that Peter realized how ridiculous a thing it was that he had said. “It’s nothing” he replied quietly. Then, furrowing his brows, he asked, “Have we met before, Captain Bone? I can’t help but feel like there’s something about you that’s awfully familiar.” He couldn’t put his finger on it before, but now it was clear to him. It was in the man’s words where he found it, memories of a night long ago at Aslan’s camp. The humid night air suffocated him in that tent, his heart pounding out of his chest and the diadems of that necklace digging into his palms. He remembered her face, red and angry. She wanted to know why he wouldn’t let her fight alongside him. _I think I at least deserve an explanation as to why you’re treating me like…like some child!_ , she had shouted. _My seniority ought to be enough to make you think twice of your commands, your majesty. I’d be an invaluable asset to Aslan’s army and you know that._ Peter remembered how angry he had become, how hard it was for him to just tell her that he loved her. How difficult she always made things. _Your skill is no longer important_ , he fired back. _Your disobedience, however, is! Why can’t you just listen to someone other than yourself for once in your life? You don’t always know best, Eilonwy!_

                Bone studied the magnificent’s face for a moment as Peter dwelled on the past. His question bounced around inside his head, screaming. _Have we met before, Captain Bone?_ The rugged man scoffed and jerked his head so as to face in the opposite direction. “Blasphemous. I wouldn’t dream of associating with the likes of you and your family.”

                The defensive tone, the certainty, shut down Peter’s suspicion immediately. Why did he ever think he had known this man once before? The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t possibly place him anywhere in the timeline. There was no way. Perhaps he was more of a reminder, a phantasm of the familiar, than a relic of the past. “Perhaps not, then” he replied, but then added quietly, “You really do remind me of her sometimes, though.”

                Captain Bone rolled his eyes at the prospect. “I remind you of no one, your majesty. There is no one else quite like me anywhere” he muttered sourly. Somehow, that defiance made him an even stronger reminder of that girl Peter once knew and loved.

                A few moments of silence then enveloped the king and this rogue, and in that silence Peter’s mind began to spin. Somehow the grave reminder of his lost lover opened the flood gates he had fought to keep locked for the past year. Now everything was spilling out at a rapid rate and Peter was powerless to stop it. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he sucked in a deep breath and asked the question anyway. “Captain Bone, have you ever heard the stories of Princess Eilonwy the Pure?”

                Captain Bone scoffed and shook his head. “The name sounds familiar but I don’t waste my time reading history books.”

                _I should’ve known_ , Peter thought. “She was the youngest daughter of the last reigning king and queen of Narnia before Jadis took over. Legend had it that she was the sole survivor of the massacre that killed the entire royal family and led to Jadis usurping the throne” he explained. He could tell deep down, Bone was trying to decipher why the young king was telling him all of this, so he then added in a much softer, more sentimental tone, “You remind me of her.”

                The moment the sentence spilled from Peter’s lips, he was met with a wide-eyed gaze from the Captain. It was perhaps the most emotion he had seen the rogue elicit thus far, and perhaps the least threatening. He had forgotten that not everyone knew of Eilonwy’s true story, of that wretched curse. Somehow Captain Bone’s presence (or maybe it was just the ethereal atmosphere) made him feel as if he didn’t need to filter himself of fantastical thoughts, but then he reminded himself he was just growing lazy and tired and that Bone was an unforgiving man who certainly did not believe in fairytales.

                “I mean, you both have the same ruthless nature” Peter quickly corrected himself. He could feel Bone’s soulless eyes boring holes into him, however, and suddenly Peter decided he didn’t care. He had hardly been honest about Eilonwy during the course of his bereavement and now, knowing he may very well die in the next few days, he no longer cared about restraint. With a sigh, he began explaining everything. He told Bone of his family’s journey from a far off world and the role Eilonwy played in their fight to restore Narnia. He explained the way in which he fell in love with her, this feral warrior of the woods. Bone seemed rather indifferent to the tale, almost bored, until Peter reached the case of Christmas, of the proposal gone wrong. “She disappeared on Christmas Eve night, saying she couldn’t do this any longer. I suppose she felt as if she didn’t really belong there, with me, as if life in Cair Paravel wasn’t meant for her even though it was her true home. I haven’t seen her since. It’s been so long.”

                There was a certain brand of pain Peter’s voice that piqued Captain Bone’s interest. If Peter hadn’t known any better, he would even guess that it scared the man, though for whatever reason he was unsure. He turned to the king and looked him dead in the eyes, the eye contact shocking. Peter felt exposed and vulnerable in those moments, like a mouse staring back at a tiger eyeing him as prey. Bone’s voice was softer now than usual, as if any louder volume would shatter the moment, and Peter grew terrified of what he would say next. He feared that Captain Bone was about to reveal a drastic, life-changing secret to the king about love and life and the way of the world, but instead he simply asked, “What did this girl look like again?”

                Peter blinked a few times, then rattled off the details: short, no taller than five foot, with wild dark hair reaching her hips, pale skin, thick brows, eyes like the bark on trees, crooked teeth, knotted muscles and sharp bones poking from beneath her skin. Bone watched the young king carefully as he described this girl, the look on his face as he recounted everything about her. It was clear he truly loved her, that the time and distance between them meant nothing in regards to his feelings. As Peter sketched her out in his mind, as vivid as ever, his heart ached and he felt himself fighting back tears. In that moment, nothing else mattered. His hands itched to hold her in his arms again, to be hear her laughter, to brush her hair from her beautiful face. He felt as if his heart was breaking all over again at the mere thought of her.

                Bone nodded slowly as he pieced together all the details Peter fed him. And then, after a moment of silence, he muttered, “Yes, yes…I remember her.”

                Peter’s ears immediately perked up. _Remembers her? How?_ He stared upon this rogue with wild eyes, gripping his shoulders. “What do you mean you remember her? How? Do you know where she is? Tell me everything, or so help me—”

                “Calm down” Bone commanded, shoving Peter off of him. He straightened his dirty leather coat and caught his breath before explaining. Peter would need all his strength for what he was about to hear, anyway. “She trespassed on my property last winter, if I remember correctly. She looked scared and confused and she was bloody defensive, begging for refuge. A complete mess, if I’m going to be honest, after being attacked by a pack of wolves who were once Jadis’s secret police. We guessed they may have been rabid, by the looks of things. I didn’t want a damn thing to do with her. I wanted to let nature take it’s course—survival of the fittest and whatnot. Of course, Rosalie begged to differ and I couldn’t argue with her. We took her in, but she was damaged beyond repair. Rosalie did everything in her power to help her but it was no use. Your friend, Eilonwy, died that night.”

                There was no way this was happening. The words rang in Peter’s ears like a haunting, foreign lullaby. _Your friend, Eilonwy, died that night. Eilonwy died._ His heart was racing and his hands began to shake and he swore he couldn’t breathe. Tears choked him but he refused to let himself cry. None of this was really happening. It couldn’t be. Maybe he had the wrong girl. Maybe this was someone completely different. Maybe his Eilonwy was somehow still out there, alive and well. After all, how much could he really trust this Captain Bone anyway? But then again, how many more like Eilonwy were out there? She was one of a kind, irreplaceable. There was no one else quite like her anywhere, not in this world or his own. It had to be her. Every memory of her flickered through his mind at warp speed, every argument and horrific moment highlighted. He should’ve been kinder to her. He should’ve taken better care of her. He should’ve told her he loved her sooner, and he never should’ve let her run off that night. If he had known that was the last time he would ever see her…

                Perhaps the worst part was the way in which she had apparently died. Taken down by a pack of rabid wolves. “What an awful, underwhelming way to go…” he murmured. It sounded so unlike her. It wasn’t like Eilonwy to not fight back, to accept defeat and beg for help. If Eilonwy had to die, he would’ve thought she’d more likely be taken down by a skilled enemy, a noble death in combat where she’d fight until her very last breath. The death of a true warrior.

                It was clear that Peter was having an internal crisis, that he was dying inside at the mere thought. More importantly, however, Captain Bone knew that Peter was bargaining with himself over the reality of the subject. Of course he didn’t believe any of this. How could he? Bone didn’t know the true extent of his suffering, but he knew enough to understand that Peter had held onto hope all this time. There was only one way to fully convince Peter of the truth. Captain Bone reached into a pocket and dug around until he pulled out a small scrap of cloth, red on one side and invisible on the other. A piece of Eilonwy’s cloak. “I don’t know what it means to you, but this was all that was left behind of her if you care about it.”

                Peter snatched the fabric from the man’s hand and stared at it longingly, rubbing his thumb against the crimson velvet. This was the last bit of her he had left, the last bit of her he would ever get. He remembered the day she got that cloak, when Father Christmas presented them with gifts to prepare for the impending war. He gave her this red cloak and a little box with a scrying stone. He wondered what ever became of that box, and what he would see if he pressed his palm to the stone and willed it to show him whatever he pleased. He wondered if it would show him the truth, if it would replay her death for him cinematically. He didn’t think he wanted to see it. He wanted to remember Eilonwy as he knew her then: unpleasant and determined and earthy but beautiful.

                “I know this is hard for you” Captain Bone stated after a long silence, “But I want you to know this isn’t going to make me sympathetic toward your dumbass ideas. This is the past. She’s gone and you can’t change that. I wouldn’t dwell on it if I were you.”

                A hard rock of anger lodged itself in Peter’s chest. He set his sword aside and rose from the porch, clenching the fabric in his fist. Without meeting Captain Bone’s eyes, he growled, “I doubt you’ve ever loved anything in your entire life, so I know you won’t understand. But so long as Eilonwy is dead, I’ll never feel alive again.” And with that, he excused himself to the outhouse. Bone watched him for a  moment longer, but felt no sympathy or regret. Peter needed to know and if this affected the way he fought in the coming days, then that was his fault. He couldn’t change the past. It was finished. He was granted closure and now it was time for him to move on.

                But he couldn’t move on. Not yet. All that time of believing she was out there somewhere, that she would eventually make her way back to him, confess she can’t live without him. Now it was all for nothing. Peter slammed the outhouse door shut and locked it so that no one would know what he was about to do. He was all alone in the dark, tight confinement. The moment he was certain of his solitude, he let himself completely break. All the tears he had held back spilled down his cheeks with monstrous wails, kicking and pounding at the walls with so much force his knuckles began to bleed. He felt like he was trapped in the worst nightmare except there was no way out. He couldn’t just wake up to find everything was alright. This was reality and he hated every second of it. His entire body was trembling and his stomach churned. He leaned over the toilet convinced he was going to be sick. Snot rested on his upper lip and despite the freezing temperatures, sweat beaded on his brow. He clutched that little scrap of fabric all the while, refusing to let go. This was the last shred of her he had left. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to envision her standing before him, every little detail, in the sudden fear that one day she would fade from his memory and she would forget the color of her eyes or the feel of her grip or the taste of her lips or the sound of her voice murmuring she loved him when she was sick and he refused to leave her side. He needed to cling to all of these little things before he lost them, too. The reality of everything suffocated him. He was never, ever going to see her again. Eilonwy was dead and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Happy crying! ^_^)


	4. VOL 3, EP 30: Heart to Heart

                In the following days, it was clear that there was something amiss. Peter said nothing of what had happened that evening, of the grave news that Bone had relayed to him. He was too afraid that in repeating it, it would make it all too real.

                “Do you think I ought to ask him if he’s alright?” Tristan asked one of the other soldiers one evening. “He seems awfully troubled, and I think it should be our duty to keep his morale in check just as it is his for ours.”

                “Do whatever you will” the other soldier replied sourly, taking another swig of his whiskey. Tristan stared upon him for a long moment, wondering if his comrade had been listening at all, before rising to track down the king.

                Peter did not want to spend any more time with his men than was necessary, or anyone for that matter. On this frigid night, he was outside brandishing his sword and biting his lower lip. Tristan peered out, calculating and considering, before stepping out into the night air.

                “Much colder in the north than I expected, your highness” he commented, blowing into his hands and rubbing his palms together.

                “It’s the northernmost border of Narnia, what did you expect?” Peter asked sourly, scarcely even looking up. A huff. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. Tristan was here now, however, and there was certainly no going back. He glanced through the window to find his comrade grinning at him from his table, lifting his glass in the air in a drunken salute.

                “You know” the young knight began, “I can’t help but notice you’ve seemed a little…well, for lack of a better term, _distracted_ these past few days, your highness. Is there something on your mind?”

                Peter scoffed. “No” he replied bluntly after a moment of silence. “No, there is nothing on my mind, and even if there was, it’s none of your concern, anyways.”

                Tristan recoiled, sucking in a deep breath. He knew the magnificent was right—he had no reason to meddle in his superior’s personal life. That didn’t stop his brash response from stinging.

                “Oh, whine and cry all you want” a voice called from the doorway. Both men turned to find Bone with arms crossed, most likely smirking beneath that mask. “Get over it, kid. People die all the time. Not worth dwelling on.”

                “Death?” Tristan asked incredulously. “There’s death involved? Who? Where? When?”

                “Like I said before” Peter replied, turning back to the young knight, “It’s none of your business. Stay out of it.” And then, glaring at Bone, “And as for you, you have no right to tell me how I ought to feel. I am y—”

                “My High King, yes, I’m very aware” Bone droned, rolling his eyes. “I’ve told you already, your title means nothing here. These are my lands, I have far more rapport here than you ever will.”

                “But who died?” Tristan interjected. “One of our men?”

                “Just because you think you’re above me doesn’t make you right” Peter fired back, completely ignoring the young knight’s questions.

                “Well then perhaps it’s my plethora of experience that sets me above you, is that it?” Bone asked back, now circling the High King. A groan rose in Peter’s throat.

                “If this is about the tactics—” he began.

                “It’s about far more than the tactics” Bone interrupted. “By now, it’s about sheer overall intelligence. You know nothing of these lands, the way things around here work. By God, you don’t even know a damn thing about the giants themselves!”

                “Did the giants kill this person?” Tristan asked. Peter stood, sword tightly in hand, and pushed Tristan out of the way to get nearer to Bone.

                “That means nothing to me. No matter what, I still have a duty to these lands just as I do to the south and the east” Peter replied.

                “But what good will any of that do if you can’t possibly protect your men?” Bone pondered mockingly. “After all, you couldn’t even protect her—”

                “You shut up!” Peter screamed, pointing his blade at the captain. His face grew red, his nostrils flaring. The tavern had grown eerily quiet as its occupants, dwarf and soldier alike, flocked to every window for a first class view.

                Bone stared down the blade, meeting the king’s gaze with stony confidence. “And that is why you will always fail” he said calmly.

                “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” Peter growled.

                The wry captain lowered Rhindon’s blade with his finger tip, skirting around the king and pushing Tristan out of the way in the process. “You’re too angsty. Attributed to your youth, I suppose. How old are you, anyway? Fifteen? Sixteen?” he began. Peter clenched his teeth. Bone waved at the air. “No matter. Regardless, you have too much rage. You act before you think. And that is what is inevitably going to kill you.”

                “You don’t know a damn thing” Peter said.

                In that moment, Captain Bone got very close to Peter’s face, perhaps a little too close. “I know far more than you think” he replied, and there was a dark twinkle in his eye that made Peter nauseous. He didn’t like the way this man made him feel. There was something about his presence, his voice, his smell, something that didn’t quite fit. This was too much. Who was this man? What kind of secrets was he hiding? And why did he make Peter feel so uncomfortable and strange?

                Tristan gasped for breath and brushed his hair back out of his face. This was far more than he had bargained for. He glanced to the window to find his comrade pressed against the glass, grinning and nodding like a maniac. He was having a field day, that bastard. He never did think much of the young knight, never considered him very capable, but now, to see him trapped amid a raging war? Priceless. He only hoped the kid would make it out alive solely to mock him upon his return.

                Peter sucked in a deep breath, mustering all of his confidence. _I know far more than you think_. He almost didn’t want to know, but at the same time he didn’t care. He matched Bone’s intensity, then growled back, “Then humor me.”

                A scoff broke past Bone’s mask. “There aren’t enough hours in the day, kid.”

                “Then you’re a liar” Peter accused.

                “What did you just say to me?”

                “You’re a liar” Peter repeated. “If you really knew as much as you say you do, then you would have no reservations about spelling it out for me.”

                Bone rolled his eyes. “You really are stupid” he muttered. “I know you think you’re responsible for saving everyone just because you’re the eldest son. I know you think you’re some golden child just because bloody Aslan himself appointed you High King. And I know you’re young, cocky, arrogant, and hate being wrong” he then listed. Every insult was another jab at Peter’s composure.

                He was tired. More than anything, he was so very tired. Sheathing his sword, he tilted his chin in one last act of heroism and replied, “You may be right, but there’s one thing that you don’t know and that is that I will fight for this country with my dying breath, High King or not.” And with that, he pushed past Bone to step back into the tavern. The crowd at the windows dissipated. But the fight was not yet over.

                Crossing his arms, Bone laughed and watched Peter make his escape. “You’re a coward, and a shit king. You’re not cut out for this job. You’re not cut out for any of this. You ought to just go home, kid. You’re not wanted here, anyways.”

                Peter refused to turn back around. It was over. Bone had won. He held his head high, his hand on his hilt, and retreated to the guest chambers above.

                For the rest of the night, all Tristan could think about was trying to piece together this strange and mystical puzzle presented before him. He knew it was not his job nor his right to go searching for answers, but his insatiable curiosity had gotten the best of him. The idea of a death brought things to an entirely new level. As he tried to sleep that night, his mind raced with ideas. He peered over to Peter, sighing as he turned this way and that. The High King was strapped with his own concerns. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Eilonwy bloody and bruised and lifeless. His stomach churned, and then an anger rose up within him. Bone was truly heartless, perhaps even moreso than Jadis herself. He turned his words over and over in his thoughts, unable to comprehend how anyone could ever fathom speaking them. Perhaps a deeper curiosity, however, lay in the why. Bone seemed to have no past, and perhaps no promise of a future. He was simply a strange figment constructed from the present, and yet Peter knew there had to be more to him than that. There had to be some foundation, some backstory, tucked away in the deepest reaches of this man’s presence. There had to be some reason behind his cruel nature.

                Rosalie yawned as she wiped clean the last of the glasses, the tavern dark now save for the small candles hanging over the bar. The rest of the dwarves had passed out under tables and draped over chairs, their usual drunken mess. However, Rosalie had not accounted for midnight visitors from upstairs. A creaking in the stairs caught her attention, and her heart leapt into her throat. Had they come to fight, she was nowhere near prepared to defend herself. And then she saw Peter’s face, pale and tired. She froze as he approached, pressing a finger to his lips.

                “I’m surprised to find you awake still” he whispered.

                “I have duties to fulfill before bed” she replied. “But I should ask the same of you. You’re not supposed to be down here, you know. Bone, he’ll…well, he’ll have a fit if he finds you awake still, and then…I just…”

                “You can’t get in trouble if he never finds out” Peter replied. Rosalie tried to quell her fears, but to no avail. Bone was just too terrible an opponent to face. “I’m actually glad to see you here still” Peter then said. “I was hoping for a drink…and perhaps a friend.”

                Rosalie blinked her large cow eyes as she attempted to process his request. The drink she could manage. She would have to dirty another glass, but that was no trouble. The friend part, however, she was unsure she could fulfill. Her eyes darted to the backroom where Bone was presumably sleeping. And then, turning to the liquor cabinet, she asked Peter, “What will you have?”

                The flickering candlelight provided a comforting glow to Peter and Rosalie’s conversation. She listened as intently as she could manage as she began slowly putting the newly cleaned glasses away one by one. As Rosalie turned back around however, Peter reached out and grasped her hands in a manner not unkind and looked upon her with a hunger in his eyes. “Rosalie, I need to ask a favor of you. I need you to tell me everything you know about Captain Bone.”

                The she-minotaur paused. She gulped as her eyes flitted to the back door, to her loyalty to the rugged captain. “I-I don’t know…I can’t, well…I don’t think I can…can say…”

                “R-Rosalie, please” Peter begged softly. “Please, I need this. I need to know everything I can about him. You have to tell me. It’s important.” Rosalie whimpered, her heart pounding out of her chest. She hated this, the conflict and confrontation. She hated being put in a position such as this. But then Peter said something that perhaps hurt her even more. “Remember who you’re talking to” he said, voice firmer than before. She glanced down to her hands in his, a shock wave running through her. How could she possibly defy her High King? With a sigh, she fell to his will.

                “Nobody knows who he is, so it’s very hard to give definitive answers, you see…” Rosalie explained. Peter’s face hardened. “B-but! But I can say that he came to these lands not very long ago, and…he’s been by my side ever since.”

                The thought of Bone’s tenure here made Peter very curious. If he hadn’t been in the north very long, then what made him so adamant about being such a definitive figure here? There were so many questions still without answers. He gazed upon Rosalie and then was faced with yet another concern. The look in her eyes, the kindness and softness, he recognized that look. He recognized it all too well, and it scared him. “Bone seems to be very important to you” he commented. “It’s hard for me to imagine how, though, with how poorly he treats you, yelling all the time. He seems very…domineering.”

                “Oh, no!” Rosalie gasped. “It’s not like that at all!” she protested. Peter cocked a brow, and the she-minotaur sighed. “I care for Captain Bone very much, that is true. He is my protector, and he is very precious to me. I would do anything for him.”

                This was far worse than he had thought. Peter scoffed and took another swig of his drink. “Well, just be careful.”

                “W-what? What do you mean?” Rosalie asked, her anxiety rising.

                “Just don’t depend on him for everything, alright?” Peter elaborated. “I speak from experience. I had someone that was very similar once, someone I loved a lot, but turned out I meant nothing in the end.” Rosalie swallowed hard and blinked, unsure of how to tread on the subject. Before she could say anything in response, however, Peter swatted at the air and took another sip of his alcohol. “None of it matters now anyways. Not like I’ll ever see her again.”

                “I understand” Rosalie then said after a beat of silence. Now this intrigued Peter deeply. She locked her eyes on the bar, running her rag across it wistfully. “It’s hard when we lose someone we care very deeply for” she began. “Funny enough, that’s how I came to find Captain Bone.”

                “Oh?” Peter asked. He leaned forward, urging her to continue. He was desperate to absorb any information about this man he could get his hands on, any indication of a past or a history. Rosalie noticed this, and for a moment she was unsure of whether she should continue. The hunger in the High King’s eyes was unnerving. However, he wasn’t about to let her tease him with answers only to back down. He softened his gaze and fed her a reassuring smile. She nodded once, and then began her story.

                “A few years ago, Captain Bone came to these lands after having spent a long while at sea. He captained a ship, you know. The greatest ship there ever was. Once his marine expedition was over, however, he found himself here, in the North. Things were difficult back then. My father was the original owner of this tavern, and at the time it was just called ‘The Rose.’ He named it after myself” she explained, and here a small, sad smile touched her lips. “This was my father’s dream. We fled here when I was just a calf, after my mother was killed at the hands of the White Witch. This tavern was our saving grace. But a few years ago, we fell on hard times again. My father…he was going rather mad. Perhaps he could no longer handle the way things were anymore, or maybe it was my mother’s death that tortured him tremendously. Either way, there were few brave enough to venture this far toward the border, and fewer still living in this area. Business was slow, and our financial situation was dire. Our only true customers have been the dwarves, who had nowhere else to go after Jadis was gone. Oh, they were just awful back then, you would never believe! But then Captain Bone arrived, and he saved us all” she continued. She rested her chin in her hands with a dreamy sigh, closing her eyes happily. “My father felt very threatened, wrongfully so, and he apprehended Bone but the captain is a wise and skilled swordsman who fearlessly took my father’s life. He reformed the dwarves into his own army, and promised to protect these lands from whomever may be so bold as to attack. I renamed the tavern after the both of us, and it is here where he has stayed since.”

                The magnificent blinked a moment, trying to comprehend everything the she-minotaur had just told him. He was completely unable to speak for a long while—everything he wanted to say became jumbled at the back of his throat, and he couldn’t get his lips to form properly. Finally, he brought himself to croak out a simple inquiry: “But…how?”

                “How what?” Rosalie asked, blinking from her dreamy state.

                “H-How you can be so devoted to a man who killed your own father?” Peter asked. There was a strange sense of anger now building up from inside of him. He hated this man. He hated this man more than anything else in the world.

                Rosalie could sense his growing fury, however, and grasped his hands kindly in hopes it would quell his rage. “No, no, no, it’s not like that at all!” she insisted. “My father was mad beyond comprehension. It was no way for him to live. He was…h-he drank far too much, and his anger was…intolerable. I hold no ill feelings toward Captain Bone for what he did at all. I miss my father very much, but it was just his time. I truly believe Captain Bone was the messenger sent by Aslan to end my father’s suffering, and destined to then stay beside me with I as his companion.”

                This was far too much. The more Peter heard of this, the more desperately he wanted to bring Rosalie back with him once this was all over. She deserved a better life than this, one in which she was well taken care of and loved. He broke free of her hands and chugged he last of his drink. “I just can’t wrap my head around it” he muttered, “It doesn’t make any sense.”

                A sympathetic smile graced the she-minotaur’s lips as she took the High King’s empty glass and began rinsing it out. “I hope someday you may understand. I’m aware of how difficult it is for most people to wrap their heads around, but I know well enough that forgiveness is a far stronger act than revenge.”

                As Peter staggered back to bed, he stared up at the ceiling for hours turning Rosalie’s words over and over again in his head. _Forgiveness is a far stronger act than revenge_. The poeticism of it made him nauseous almost as much as the truth of it did. He did not particularly consider himself a vengeful person, and yet he knew that when those he loved were in danger, he was willing to do everything in his power to honor and protect them. He couldn’t imagine simply _forgiving_ the White Witch for having swindled, captured, and tortured his younger brother. He couldn’t imagine _forgiving_ anyone who puts his family in danger. Either Rosalie was just as mad as her father, or she was a far purer soul than he could ever hope to be.

                There was a slight pounding in his head, and he slowly began to regret the alcohol. Unfortunately, his midnight chat perhaps made him feel far worse than he did before. His emotions roared inside of him. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was death and destruction and the face of a man who cared not for the aftermath. 


	5. VOL 3, EP 31: A Battle of Gigantic Proportions

                A hand skated down Peter’s back, resting right above the waist of his pants. His breath hitched in his throat. Everything was dark. Their touch felt familiar, and yet there was something discomforting about all of this. Something wasn’t quite right. The hand skirted around to his lower stomach, and he could feel the hot breath of someone far shorter than him against his chest. His first instinct was Eilonwy. He reached out to cup her cheek, but instead of soft skin he found rugged fabric and knotted dreadlocks. A disgusting chuckle reached his ears. This was not his love. This was the embodiment of his current hate. This was someone who didn’t give a damn about others. Someone selfish and coarse and cruel. He opened his mouth to speak, and then…

                Peter snapped awake, gasping. The ground beneath him shook, and everything around him was chaos. His men were scrambling to put on their pants and gather their weapons. Maybe it was the alcohol, or his exhaustion, but Peter’s mind felt as if it was working at half speed. Everything was hazy and dim. Before he could ask what was going on, Rhindon landed in his lap with a thud.

                “Rise and shine, kid” Bone called from the doorway. “We’ve got company.”

                And then Peter understood all too well the magnitude of their situation. It was what they had been sent there for in the first place. He leapt to his feet and peered out the window. Giants.

                The only time he had ever seen giants before in his life was during the Battle of Beruna, as part of the White Witch’s army, but even then they were nothing compared to this. He had not fought any of them personally, and from a distance they seemed drastically overexaggerated. But now, here they were mere meters away from him, the creeps of Ettinsmoor, and he would be lying if he said he was unafraid.

                He finished getting dressed as he ran downstairs behind the others. Time seemed to be moving far faster than he could keep up with, but before diving into the fray, there was one thing of particular interest that caught his eye. He glanced over his shoulder to find Bone standing by the back door of the tavern, grasping Rosalie’s hands tightly and whispering something to her urgently. Rosalie nodded, tears in her eyes, and squeezed Bone’s hands as he leaned in. His face was mainly hidden by Rosalie’s then, which blocked Peter from getting a good look when he pulled his mask down to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. It was something Peter had certainly not expected but filled him with such a strange feeling. He never would’ve imagined Captain Bone was capable of being soft and affectionate, and yet here he was displaying just that. Perhaps there truly was more to their relationship than he had initially believed.

                But now was not the time for sentiment. There was a war raging outside that Peter needed to become a part of. Rosalie hid herself away in the back room and Bone rushed toward the door. He punched Peter in the arm as he went, shouting back “Quit wasting time, we’ve got giants to kill!” Peter nodded once and then rushed off after him.  

                One by one, the giants scooped up scores of men and dwarves alike, squeezing them in one hand until they splattered or chewing them to pieces with their gnarly teeth. Soon the snowy battlefield was stained red with blood. Peter’s heart raced as he fought with everything he had, his palms beginning to sweat. Perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea after all. His men were getting slaughtered, and there was nothing he could do to save them. He thought about their families, their wives and children, and how some of them would never return now. How he would have to break the news and watch them fall to their knees hysterical. He did this. This was his fault. He looked to Bone across the way, slashing at giants left and right, sweat beading on his brow. He was right. They likely would’ve been better off letting him and his men handle things. It was too late to turn back now, though. The battle had already begun, they were already devoted to the cause. He needed to stop focusing on the death and destruction, on feeling empty and worthless and disgusting, and turn his attention to the task at hand: protecting his land and killing the enemy.

                Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the alcohol, or both, that started affecting him. Maybe the heartbreak finally caught up to him. The battle wore on, and soon the High King’s vision grew hazy. A pale white hand reached out in front of him, sword drawn, and his heart raced. The snow around him melted to lush grass, the sun blinding. A familiar face, bathed in bright light, smirked back at him as her blade sliced through flesh in slow motion, splattering blood everywhere.

                _You’re not supposed to be here_ , he thought. _You promised you would stay out of this_. She narrowed her dark eyes at him, her chapped lips pursed as if to say _You don’t own me. You don’t tell me what to do. I am a warrior, and I will fight as it is my duty and instinct._

                A giant swooped down and swiped his hand across the field, sending every man in his path sliding toward the tavern. Peter choked, squeezed between three rather large men, before he heard the slam of impact. He turned around to find a body hunched on the ground, blood oozing from her side. _I told you that you would get yourself killed if you came out here_ , he wanted to say. He fell to his knees, reached out to pull her in close, but all he found in his arms was cold, lifeless snow. Tears brimmed and a lump rose in his throat. She was never there, fighting alongside him, and she never would be again. She was just a figment of his imagination. A ruse. A sleepy stupor. He reached into his back pocket to caress the little scrap of red fabric, the last piece of her that remained. This was so wrong. She didn’t deserve to die. She wasn’t supposed to die. There was no way he could bring her back. The heavy footsteps of a giant on the run shook the ground from behind him. For a moment, he wished he would just end it all, send him to wherever people go when they die here so he can be with her again. But that was too selfish. He still had Susan and Edmund and Lucy to take care of. He still had a family he needed to return to. He still had a letter that needed a response. Besides, he knew better than to let himself get killed. He heard Eilonwy’s voice in his head, shouting at him to do something. When he looked up, however, he was met with Bone’s stony gaze. _They really are quite alike_ , Peter thought to himself. Eilonwy would never have wanted him to do something so stupid. Just because she had died, didn’t mean Peter had to, as well. It was at that moment that he decided right here, in the place of her death, he would fight with every ounce of strength he had and defeat these terrible creatures with the scrap of her cape in his pocket and the sword she helped name in his hand. It was all for her. Everything he did, and everything he would ever do. He would honor her in the only way he knew how: by continuing to fight as she could not do.

                The battle raged until nightfall, the cloudy sky fading from dim orange to bleak navy. Corpses of giants littered the meadow—those who did not perish mostly retreated back home to nurse their wounds. The stench of the dead bodies was unimaginable. Peter removed his sword from the chest of a fallen enemy, sweating and gasping for breath. He had given himself completely to the fight, and worked for hours without so much as a brief respite. He was too high on determination, too desperate for victory. It was all for her, and now he was triumphant just as promised.

                “We did good work” he heard Bone announce, one foot on the bloody hand of the enemy. He surveyed the land, nodding with satisfaction. “This should keep us fed for the rest of the year” he added, and Peter nearly vomited in his mouth. The captain ushered everyone inside the tavern to get patched up, then insisted the able bodied begin carting the corpses away to be taken care of. To his surprise, Bone slapped Peter on the back as he entered, then nodded once and said, “You’re not so bad after all, kid.”

                The tavern’s dining room quickly filled with many a weary soldier, some of whose injuries were worse than others. Rosalie rushed to each man as quickly as possible, treating the worst first as was only appropriate. As Peter began to sober up, he surveyed the men around him in a sort of sleepy haze. He almost felt desensitized to the chaos after such an intense battle. Some men screamed in agony, blood dribbling down their lips and chins and staining their clothes. Tristan lay on the floor near the fireplace writhing in pain. He had lost his arm but not his life, or at least yet. The outlook was bleak. Peter hoped he would make it through the night.

                By midnight most of the severe cases had been taken care of and had passed out with the help of the ample supply of booze. Though his wounds were minor at best, Rosalie still insisted on treating Peter just as she had the others, pressing with a docile giggle that even kings deserve treatment. As the she-minotaur worked, Peter looked about at the dwarfs piled upon men, their sweetly calm faces and melodic snoring. There was a sort of relief to the peacefulness of it all that calmed the High King even further. There was one thing, however, that struck a strong tinge of curiosity in him.

                “Rosalie, where did Bone go?” he asked, breaking the streak of silence. Rosalie paused for a moment and gulped.

                “It’s not unlike Captain Bone to retreat to his chambers for some solitude after a big battle” she then explained. She kept her large eyes fixed on her work.

                “But what about his wounds? Shouldn’t he get treated, as well?” Peter asked. He was certain that despite his confidence, there was no way Captain Bone had left that battle unscathed.

                “I’ll cater to his wounds later” Rosalie replied. “Right now, he’s insisted on alone time to rest and recharge.”

                Peter was not about to argue with what Rosalie and Bone had previously agreed to, but he couldn’t help but stare at that back door utterly perplexed. Just another layer of mystery and intrigue added to the story that was Captain Elias Bone. A part of him wondered if he would ever uncover the whole truth behind this man, but as his eyelids grew heavier, he knew there was nothing else to be done.

                Come morning, Peter and his men packed their things and prepared for the journey back home. Had she been more assertive, Rosalie would have rejected the idea, insisting that his men needed more time to heal, but Bone stepped in before she could say anything and refuted her idea. It was time for them to go, and that was something even the worst of them understood.

                “I suppose you weren’t that useless after all, kid” Captain Bone said with a boyish nod as Peter and his men prepared to depart. The sky overhead was bright and clear, a fine day for travelling. He hoped the journey home would be smooth and quick.

                “Maybe now you’ll have a little more faith in your High King” Peter suggested, but Bone rolled his eyes and punched Peter on the arm.

                “I don’t like you that much” he replied gruffly.

                Peter gazed around at the little tavern and the clearing outside it, the snow still stained with blood, and for a moment he almost hated to leave this place. So much had happened in the short time he had spent there. And then there was the matter of Eilonwy. Leaving such a place almost felt like leaving her behind, knowing that it was here that she spent her final breaths. He wanted to cling to every last bit of her there ever was, and yet at the same time overstaying his welcome made him nauseous. He feared that if he spent too much time here, visions of that night might drive him mad. No, he was going home. This was for the best.

                “I expect you to take good care of the Northern border” Peter replied. “I trust that it is in good hands should the giants make the poor decision to attack again.”

                “Oh, they’ll certainly be back” Bone said. “Giants are bloody idiots. They’ve got puny brains for such large bodies. I anticipate they’ll no doubt make the same mistake twice. But when they do return, we’ll be ready for them, I’ve no doubt.”

                The High King gave a definitive nod, then peered back at his men. “Well, thank you for the lodging and the help, and I hope you both stay safe” he said. “Maybe one day our paths will cross again?”

                Bone rolled his eyes after a split second of hesitation. “Only in your nightmares, kid.” And with that, Peter bid them a polite farewell before leaping aboard Besnik and riding off. Bone and Rosalie watched from the doorway until the army disappeared into the thick forest, breathing a sigh of relief once they were finally gone.

                “There now, we can finally relax again” the she-minotaur said, locking the front door as Bone slid into a seat at a nearby table. He cleared his throat and rubbed his chest, making a sour expression. “Are you alright?” she then finally asked, inching closer. She poured the man a drink, which he gratefully accepted.

                Captain Bone tugged down his neck scarf and took a long swig of ale. He threw his hat across the floor and ran his fingers through his long, tangled hair. Then off went his leather jacket, and his overshirt, and everything else until he had completely dissolved his outer shell. He glinted at his reflection in his glass and pursed his lips. Pale skin, chapped lips, thick brows, bony and spindly and gross.

                Rosalie cleared her throat. “A-are you alright? Eilonwy?”

                The captain chugged the last of her drink and then threw the empty glass against the wall, watching it shatter across the floor. “I will be. Eventually” she scoffed. Then, after a few more moments, she buried her face in her hands, muttering “God…oh, God…”

                The she-minotaur scooted into the seat beside her and began rubbing her back gently. “It’s alright, Ellie. You’ll be fine.”

                “I can’t believe I did this…” the huntress whispered past the lump in her throat. She refused to let herself cry. “I told him the story, that I was dead. I could literally see his heart break, that…that look on his face…”

                “You didn’t have to do this, you know” Rosalie reminded her. “There would be no harm in having told the truth.”

                “No” Eilonwy shook her head. “No, impossible. This…this was for the best. This, here, is where I belong. Not with him, in that god-awful castle. No. No, I couldn’t do it. I-I don’t…” Her voice was breaking, and her thin hands began to tremble. Rosalie pouted sympathetically and pulled the woman into her arms, kissing her forehead softly.

                “I know that’s what right isn’t always what’s easiest, but I think you handled this very well, all things considering” Rosalie whispered. “I’m proud of you, Ellie, for your unwavering strength and bravery. And I’m honored to call you my dear companion.” It was at this that Eilonwy felt the hot tears begin to surface against her will. Gasping for breath, she buried her face in her hands and let herself finally break down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome ^_^


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